


At Last, A Home

by salishseaselkie



Series: Of Lambs and Lions [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salishseaselkie/pseuds/salishseaselkie





	At Last, A Home

Even if he wanted to, Cullen was not about to ask how, in fact, he’d managed to get Niamh Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste and leader of the Inquisition, into his bed.

He had never spent much time in the company of women - not like this. There had been one particularly difficult day in Kirkwall and a lesson in the dark at the Blooming Rose, but it was impersonal. It had been a release written off as a one-time mistake. Then again, Kirkwall had been a mistake, the offspring of  hateful days and waking nights. What woman would have wanted any of that?

Yet, Niamh was here, with him, and as naked and glorious as the flames of Andraste’s pyre. _Miraculous_. He’d be the last to deny that they’d had fun on his desk; it had been perfectly natural, after all the moments, the stolen kisses in the shadows and the wanting eyes thrown at the War Table. Still, he was befuddled: What was she doing with  _him_? Surely, he must be dreaming.

Here she was, naked before him, lying back on her elbows, waiting for him with dark, lustful eyes and a positively wicked grin on her face, twisting her finger around the end of her braid.

She laid her hand languorously across her bare belly. “Commander, you are still in your breeches,” she purred.  _Commander_. Once, she had called him that out of formality. Now she used the title, and he knew she was teasing him.

He smiled a lopsided grin and climbed up on the bed. “Oh, don’t worry,” he murmured, dipping his head to kiss her bare knee. “We have time.” He glanced up at her from under his brow darkly, seductively even, if he could dare apply the word to himself.

Her breasts – soft and supple things – were heaving at the sight of him on his hands and knees at her feet. Somewhere, his armor, her clothes, and their boots were in a messy pile – probably at the bottom of the ladder. He pitied the fool who would come to wake them with new reports.

He reached a hand up to graze her calf with his knuckles, still dedicating slow, tortuous kisses on her inner thigh where her skin was like satin. Gradually, she parted her legs, and as Cullen came closer to the crux, she threaded her fingers gently in his hair, still propped on one elbow. She moaned, “Oh, Andraste…” Cullen’s hand slipped from her calf and touched the wet heat of her entrance, teasing as he looked up at his lover.

Her lust-filled eyes were hooded now as she watched him, her hair coming undone, and her lips parted as she waited, wanted. His hand wandered, eyes still locked with hers and a smirk on his face, and found the small nub he’d been searching for. Niamh inhaled sharply at the contact and tightened her grip in his hair, shutting her eyes quickly. Cullen bent down and put his tongue to her, tasting her. She shuddered. She was  _perfection_. He put a knee over his shoulder and lapped her up. She jerked and her thighs tightened around him as her hand in his hair yanked ever so slightly, and he chuckled to himself. The sound of it sent reverberations up her body, which pleased him more.

He heard his name on her lips, a prayer, a plea, and he slipped a finger, then two, inside her and stroked languidly as he sucked on her. She bucked her hips against his teeth, squeezing around his fingers, and suddenly she had released her grip on his hair and was arching back against the bed, grasping at the sheets with a soft wail, her heel digging into his shoulder blade.

As she rode the waves of her climax, Cullen doffed his trousers and smalls, kicking them off unceremoniously onto the floor. He kissed her belly as she panted, climbing up the bed to meet her, licking and kissing and nipping her skin. He cupped a breast in his hand, weighing it and molding it, and she looked at him through the haze of her thrumming body as she lounged among the twisted sheets and neglected pillows. He smiled at her as she did. “You are lovely,” he whispered.

She laughed in the back of her throat, smiling and looking away. “You are heavily biased,” she happily chided. He chuckled and dove in to kiss her pulse point. He sucked on the skin there, a tad salty with sweat. She wrapped her arms around his neck snugly and he lowered his body, brushing his erection against her thigh.

At the contact, he paused, feeling an odd new confidence. “Do you want me?” he asked hesitantly, nuzzling her earlobe. She nodded and he grinned, feeling playful as well. “I can’t hear you,” he teased quietly. When she grumbled stubbornly, he cupped her bottom in one hand and squeezed. “At your order,  _Inquisitor_ ,” he coaxed, biting her earlobe. Her hand slipped down to the small of his back, nudging him close enough that he could feel how drenched she was.  _Do not yield_ , he ordered himself.  _You must hold…_  He took hold of his shaft and teased her, tracing her opening, and she whimpered.

“Maker…oh, Cullen, please…” He smiled, still teasing her.

He murmured into her ear huskily, “Cullen, please… _what_?” She dug her fingernails into the flesh of his backside. He threw his head back and glimpsed her face. She was turned into a pillow, eyes shut, lip snared by her front teeth, and, oh, the intense look of frustration as she panted impatiently made him giddy.

She whined and he kissed her jawline, her hairline, her collarbone – all the while, holding his position just above her entrance. She peeked out from where her face was buried in the pillow to see Cullen watching her smugly. She tried hiding a smile. “I…” she began.

“Yes?”

“I…”

“Niamh?” She bit her lip and suddenly bucked her hips, taking in a small bit of him right as he passed his erection over her, and he hissed as the moment quickly passed.  _Maker’s blood_ , she would be his downfall, and not for lack of trying. He pressed his body down on her, to pin her and keep her still. “Come now, Inquisitor,” he coaxed, grazing the tip of his nose along her taut throat. “Tell me you want me.” She shuddered and her hand came up to grasp the hairs of his nape. She lay kisses along his neck and nipped his earlobe, which sent electricity shooting down to his groin.

She finally took in his mouth, nibbling his lower lip, and amidst her kiss, she murmured, “I want you, you pernicious fiend…” Taking her at her word, he thrust into her, and they both gasped. He drank in the rapture in her crystalline eyes and reveled in the crease in her brow as she gazed back in the shock of how he  _filled_  her. He dug his face into her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him as tightly as he could. She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he thrust again and again, slowly in, quickly out.

He did his best to keep a steady pace, but as she squeezed her inner muscles, tightening around him, he felt the drive to lose himself. He held to his purpose, but only just. The warm perfume of her bronze colored hair and the needy whine in her throat called to his body, called it to loftier ends.  _Good things come to those who wait…_  He took to reciting Chantry proverbs in his head to distract him, but the whims of her body matched the strength of his endurance, tit for tat.

Niamh only served to goad him on, crying out as he sped up. Her leg crunched up along his rib cage, and he lifted it up, resting a calf on his shoulder to deepen the angle. “Oh,  _Cullen_ …” she whimpered as she felt him penetrate to her core. Her nails scrabbled along his back, and he felt her arch against him. He reached up and stuffed a hand beneath his pillow, grasping roughly at the sheet beneath as his muscles stiffened, the heat in his belly pooling, and Niamh let out another wail, muffling it into his neck. He came inside her, head spinning and vision blurring. He thrust once more, hard, and she kissed him, swallowing her name, stifled on her lips.

Her hands came up from the small of his back as he let her leg down, grazing his chest, and cupped his face. She pulled back and thumbed over his cheekbone as she looked in his eyes, her own muddled and darkened with a carnal serenity. Her lips were parted as she inhaled deeply. She watched him watch her, but she said nothing – she only gazed upon him, and he dared to think that she was completely enamored with him. He felt the tug of an involuntary grin and gave in as her lips smoothed into a toothy smile.

Cullen kissed her swollen lips, hesitating to extricate himself from her for how together he felt with her, and he crooned, “Are you all right, Niamh?” She nodded as he peppered kisses down her neck.

She moaned, “I am…” and trailed off as she weaved her fingers through his thick curls. Sweat had beaded between her breasts, and she was still catching her breath, but her languid movements suggested contentment. Cullen caught a glimpse of her smile as he turned on to his side, taking her with him and enveloping her in his arms. Their legs tangled as he reached down to pull up the cool sheets over them. He tucked her in and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I love you.” The words were organic; he had not prepared to confess his love for her like this, but as she glanced back up at him, pillowing her head on his arm, her smile gave him the validation he needed.

He hadn’t expected to hear it from her. He had never imagined a woman would love him, would look at him and see someone worthy of her. So when Niamh kissed him one last time that night and whispered the words he never thought were meant for him as if they were a well-loved prayer, a bubble in his heart swelled and burst, overcoming him.

“I love you, Cullen.”

And when she tucked her head beneath his chin to sleep, with his arms wrapped snugly around her shoulders, Cullen knew it.

He was home.


End file.
